


the problem with webs

by katierosefun



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Irondad 1000, Irondad1000, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Endgame, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun
Summary: “I dunno, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, ducking around the other end of the lab bench. He examined the other benches and, with a burst of relief, swiped up an all-too familiar circular piece. “Is this one of the web-shooters?”“You left one of them behind a few weeks ago,” Tony answered. He paused. “Wait, Peter, don’t—”“Great!” Peter interrupted, and he swung the metal piece up to the ceiling. Before it could fall back to the ground, Peter shot out a long length of webbing to the piece. The metal clanged against the ceiling as it hit the surface, followed by a small series of annoyed rumbling sounds from the lab at the sudden impact.Peter looked back at Tony. “So I guess that means we gotta get out of the lab, Mr. Stark,” he said as solemnly as he could.Tony rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Peter.”“Yes, Mr. Stark?”“Get that thing down.”“Sorry, sir,” Peter said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t want to get Ms. Potts angry.”[or Tony Stark has been working for about 48 hours, and Peter's sent to get him out of the lab. Fulfills prompt 555 of Irondad 1000 Feelings, 'the satisfaction in your own perspicacity '.]





	the problem with webs

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” Pepper sighed as Peter walked into the house.

“Hey, Ms. Potts,” Peter said, adjusting his backpack straps around his shoulders. “Something wrong?” But even as he asked, he could tell from the older woman’s stance that things were most certainly going wrong. Pepper, Peter had learned, could keep her face straight through some of the most bizarre circumstances—like the one time Peter “Thad made the mistake of shooting himself up to the ceiling with Tony’s glove. Peter distinctly remembered how Pepper had calmly directed him back to the ground before telling him to please, please, _please_ wear a helmet next time. Then again, Peter figured Pepper had seen a fair share of disasters in order to maintain that calm.

But right now, Pepper’s lips were pressed in a thin, white line, and her grip on her coffee mug seemed just a tad tighter than normal.

Definitely not good.

“Tony’s in the back working on something with Morgan,” Pepper said, bringing the coffee mug to her lips. “And it’s been at least two days since they’ve actually come back inside the house.” She paused. “Actually, Morgan’s come in for the occasional nap, but they’ve been whacking away at _some_ thing, and I just _know_ they’re going to get themselves sick if they keep at it, so would you _please_ …” Pepper flapped her hand in the general direction of the back of the house.

“Sure, Ms. Potts,” Peter said, heading back out the door.

Just as one foot stepped out the doorway, though, Pepper called, “Leave your backpack here.”

Peter swiveled himself around by a quarter of an inch. “Why?”

Pepper pushed a hand up to her face. “Because I don’t want you getting sucked in that crazy mess. Bag. Here.” As Peter started to protest, Pepper shot him an icy stare and added, “Please, don’t act like you wouldn’t stay in the back overnight, either.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter said hastily, swinging his backpack down. He threw both his hands up in surrender to Pepper, who just rolled her eyes and shooed him out the door.

Peter didn’t take too long in finding Tony. Just as he had done before the dusting, Peter spent the majority of his weekends here at Tony’s. Aunt May came by on occasion, which usually gave Pepper some relief in having someone to talk to after being surrounded by people who were a little too interested in making small rockets or armor.

So the small lab—which technically _wasn’t_ a lab, according to Tony—across the house felt jut as familiar as Peter’s own apartment. Tony had built the lab (or, as he called it, his ‘office’) only a year ago. After recovering full use of a prosthetic arm, Tony had set to work. And although Tony had repetitively told Peter and everyone else that he was officially retired, Peter still found bits and pieces of armor that surely couldn’t be for him.

And, of course, as Peter strolled into the lab, he could hear Tony working now—the faint buzzing and humming of machinery, the faint hiss of metal welding together, and the dull thud-thud-thud of Morgan’s sneakers hitting the legs of a lab bench as she passed along tools.

Morgan saw Peter first.

“Peter!” she cried, perking up. Over the course of the last year, Morgan had grown an inch or so, and when Morgan jumped down from the lab bench, Peter was still startled to find Morgan’s head bump a bit higher up his leg than he was used to. “What took you so long?”

“School,” Peter replied, scrubbing the top of Morgan’s head. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Daddy and I are working,” Morgan answered solemnly. She tilted her head up at Peter with a gap-toothed smile. She had lost some teeth recently, therefore making sure to flash an open-lipped smile whenever she got the chance. “Very important.”

“I can tell,” Peter said, nodding along the best he could.

“Are you gonna help now?” Morgan asked. “I can get you your—”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Peter interrupted. “Why don’t you get us some snacks first?”

Morgan bounced a little on the balls of her feet. “Juice pops?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure, why not,” Peter said, ignoring the fact that both Tony and he had learned (the hard way) that bringing juice pops into a lab wasn’t the best idea. (Long story short, there was lots of melting, lots of paper towels, and some sticky red and purple residue stuck to the floor for at least two days before Pepper told them to clean it up properly.)

And as Morgan bounded off to find some juice-pops, Peter made his way towards Tony. The fact that Tony hadn’t said a single word during the entire exchange was warning enough, especially considering how Morgan had wanted juice-pops in the lab again.

“Ms. Potts is looking for you,” Peter started, leaning against the lab bench. He turned to Tony. His face was covered with a mask, but his hands continued working busily. “I think she said something about needing Morgan and you to get out a little.”

“Mm-hm,” Tony murmured. He sounded a little muffled from behind the mask, but Peter was glad to at least get some kind of response from him.

“What’re you working on, anyways?” Peter asked.

Silence.

Peter swiveled his head at Tony. “Mr. Stark?”

“Mm…”

Peter frowned. Something was off—he figured that walking in, but now he was _certain_ things were wrong. “Mr. Stark?” he repeated. He narrowed his eyes into the mask, and then, he felt something shift into place in his head.

Without warning, Peter whipped the mask off Tony’s face, causing his mentor to startle.

“What—”

“You can _work_ while _sleeping_?” Peter asked incredulously.

Tony’s hands stopped moving, and he set aside the materials he had been working with. Rubbing at his eyes with one hand, he asked, “You couldn’t warn me?”

“I gave you lots of warnings!” Peter replied. “I called your name! Twice!” He waved the mask around the air. “How were you working while sleeping?”

Tony stretched out his hands, the beginnings of a smile quirking up his lips. “Just some new stuff I’ve been toying around with.” He blinked a few times, and then, with a yawn, he asked, “Where’d Morgan go?”

“She went to get juice-pops.”

“ _Juice-pops_? We’re not allowed to have—”

“That was another warning,” Peter replied. He threw the mask on the lab bench. “Ms. Potts is looking for you. Does she know about the whole…”He closed his eyes and scrambled his hands along the lab bench. When he re-opened his eyes, Tony was rolling his eyes.

“She doesn’t know _yet_ ,” Tony said. He looked back down at his hands. “I’m still trying to work out the kinks.” He drummed his fingers against the bench. “How long have I been in here?”

“In the lab?” Peter asked. When Tony nodded, Peter replied, “Pepper mentioned something about two days.”

Tony nodded to himself. “Makes sense,” he mused. “Day one was just the working…day two was just the test run.” Still nodding to himself, he murmured, “Maybe if I tried for a little longer…”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Peter had definitely seen Tony in worse conditions, but the man still looked like he was in the first few stages of exhaustion. His eyes had small veins of red underlying the whites, and he kept blinking every few moments as though trying to get something out of his sight. “Because I don’t think—”

But Tony was already waving a hand at Peter. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “Now, can you pass me the…” He snapped his fingers at the hunk of metal still sitting on the lab bench. “The _that_.”

“This?” Peter asked, picking up the metal. He wasn’t really sure what it was—an unmolded, untouched scrap that could probably end up working as a shield or a chest-plate, maybe, but he could never be too certain. “What do you want this for?” He spun the bit around his fingers and narrowly dodged Tony’s reach for the object. “Is this for work?”

“Yes,” Tony replied. “Peter, come on, give it.”

“I dunno, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, ducking around the other end of the lab bench. He examined the other benches and, with a burst of relief, swiped up an all-too familiar circular piece. “Is this one of the web-shooters?”

“You left one of them behind a few weeks ago,” Tony answered. He paused. “Wait, Peter, don’t—”

“Great!” Peter interrupted, and he swung the metal piece up to the ceiling. Before it could fall back to the ground, Peter shot out a long length of webbing to the piece. The metal clanged against the ceiling as it hit the surface, followed by a small series of annoyed rumbling sounds from the lab at the sudden impact.

Peter looked back at Tony. “So I guess that means we gotta get out of the lab, Mr. Stark,” he said as solemnly as he could.

Tony rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Peter.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Get that thing down.”

“Sorry, sir,” Peter said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t want to get Ms. Potts angry.”

“ _Peter_ —” Tony started, but then the familiar padding of feet caused both Tony and Peter to look towards the lab door.

“Juice pops!” Morgan said, one hand carefully holding two juice pop wrappers while the other held up her own purple one. She waved the wrappers in the air and glanced up at the ceiling with some interest. “Why’s the stuff up there?”

“Because Peter doesn’t know who to be more scared of,” Tony muttered, just as Peter answered, “Because your mom said so.” Peter ignored the glare Tony shot him and moved forward, taking a juice pop from Morgan’s hand. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Morgan said, handing Tony a juice pop. Turning to Peter, she asked, “Why did Mommy tell you to put our stuff on the ceiling?”

“Because your dad isn’t getting enough sleep,” Peter replied matter-of-factly.

Morgan whipped her head around to Tony. “You don’t sleep?” she asked, both of her eyebrows creeping up to her hairline.

“No, no, no—Peter and Mommy are just exaggerating,” Tony said quickly, sticking the juice pop in his mouth. Around the treat, he added, “I get sleep. Like you do.”

Slowly, recognition seemed to dawn in Morgan’s eyes. She tilted her head to the side at Tony, and as though in a trance, she asked, “Daddy, when was the last time you changed your clothes?”

Peter leaned against the lab bench, taking a small lick from his juice pop as innocently as he could as Tony started fumbling for some answer.

“Well, I like these clothes,” he said.

“I like my clothes, but I change them,” Morgan replied.

“I didn’t have time.”

“Because you didn’t sleep?”

“I slept!”

“When?”

Tony looked over at Peter, who only shrugged again. “Looks like Morgan’s onto something, Mr. Stark,” Peter said loftily. He took another lick from his juice pop.

“Very funny.”

“It really is,” Peter replied. He looked down at Morgan. “Your dad needs a nap.”

As Morgan nodded back seriously, Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, turning back to the lab bench. “I’ll get some actual sleep as soon as I’m done.” But just as Tony reached for something across the lab bench, Peter shot out another length of web over Tony’s wrists.

Tony let out a sharp cry, and Morgan started giggling as Peter said, “Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Peter, get me out of—”

But Peter was already walking towards the lab’s exit, pulling forward the webbing ever so slightly any time Tony tried to yank himself away. Not for the first time, Peter was grateful for the miraculous strength the spider bite had given him since. He supposed he could technically pick Tony up and literally carry him back to the house, but he figured such a gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. Still, as Peter pulled the web forward again, he couldn’t help but smile at the image to himself.

When Peter finally reached the lake house, Pepper was standing in the doorway, hands placed on her hips. “Thank you, Peter,” she said as everyone entered the house. “Tony, you look awful.”

“I’ve been worse,” Tony said, half of his juice pop sticking out of his mouth. “Really. I’m fine.”

Pepper shook her head wearily. “One of these days, I swear…” She looked down at the webbing wrapped around Tony’s wrists. “And what…?”

“It was the only way,” Peter replied with a shrug.

“And that was after he webbed up some of the equipment,” Tony grumbled. He held up his wrists to Peter. “Can you get this thing off now?”

“Sure,” Pete replied. He remembered vaguely how to get the webbing off, but after a minute of working the webbing, he looked up, ice running into his stomach. “Um…Mr. Stark?”

“What?” Tony asked wearily. The tiredness seemed to be getting to him now.

Bad timing.

“Um…which model of the webbing is this?” Peter asked nervously.

“It was one of yours.”

That ice in Peter’s stomach solidified and sank. “Oh,” he said in a small voice.

“Why ‘oh’?” Tony asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“Um…” Peter looked at Tony, then at Pepper, then at Morgan, who only licked her juice pop with wide, innocent eyes. He looked back at Tony and tried not to wince as he said slowly, “Well, remember when I made my own webbing a few years back?”

“Yeah, of course, why—oh.” Tony looked down at the webbing, then back at Peter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Why?” Pepper asked, looking between the two with raised eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Um…” Peter swallowed. “One of my web shooters doesn’t actually undo itself. It kind of…”

“Evaporates,” Tony finished. “After three hours.” He looked down at his wrists. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he repeated.

“Well…at least that means you really have to sleep now?” Peter suggested with a halfhearted smile. It felt more like a grimace.

Tony looked at Peter. “You’re going to want to figure this out fast.”

Peter grimaced for real this time. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

As he scrambled for the webbing, he overheard Tony mutter, “More scared of Pepper—yeah, right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Finally some goofy stuff. I didn't know what 'perspicacity' actually meant, and I still only have a bare shred of what the word actually means, so this was my best attempt at the prompt. (Apparently, 'perspicacity' means something along the lines of 'shrewdness' or 'cleverness'...I think. Again, not quite sure, but this was my best shot!) 
> 
> As always, comments/constructive criticism is appreciated!


End file.
